A Certain Perimeter Of Privacy
by Victoria Mallard
Summary: C.J. Craig attends the funeral of Simon Donovan.


**Title:** A Certain Perimeter Of Privacy

**Fandom**: The West Wing

**Author: **Mrs. Mallard

**Category: **Sequel for 3x22 „Posse Comitatus"

**Summary: **C.J. Craig attends the funeral of Special Agent Simon Donovan.**  
**

**Authors note:** It's my first fanfiction written in english, and I'll be very glad for any reviews!

**A Certain Perimeter Of Privacy**

_„By the way: I can't guarantee anything except to say that if you're dead, chances are I am too."_

His words echo in my ear as I stand alone in front of the open grave. Why did this happen? The threat was over. They catched my stalker. I wasn't his protectee any longer. We should have had all the time in the world – but all I made out of it was a careful little kiss before returning to Shakespeare. I still just don't dare to think about those words. Simon Donovan is dead, and I feel sorry and bad at the same time. I never thought I could feel so bad about the death of a person I have barely known. And I just don't want to know how I would feel if this death was my fault. If he would have died in the line of duty, protecting me. Catching a bullet that was fired to kill me.

Again I can hear the echo of his words, spoken shortly after our first encounter. He is dead now, but he shouldn't be. I am still alive. It doesn't feel right, although I know that there is nothing I could have done. It is not my fault that a federal agent got shot at an armed robbery somewhere in New York City. But the voice in my mind keeps saying something different. I could have saved him. If I stayed with him, if he had entered the shop just a few minutes later, he might still be alive.

_„I have spent my adult life protecting people, you are the first person that's got me seriously thinking about switching sides!"_

I still remember the first time we met. I was angry about his presence, and I didn't hide it. I live in a mens world, and I have learned to fight anything that might make me look weak. You can't survive in the West Wing if you're weak – particularly when you're a woman. So I fought against this protection, made him feel my anger in any possible way. He didn't react. He just kept his calm face, stood there and just didn't vanish. It felt like an ugly disease, like something you just want to get rid off as fast as possible – but you can't.

I slowly realize how little I knew this man. What kind of person he must have been, willing to give his life away for a stupid woman that had only harsh words and accusations for him? I know the Secret Service pays their agents well. But is it worth the risk? He had no family, no kids. All the money won't help him where he is now. I was such an idiot. Why did I do this to him? Why was my only respond to his smile a mean bickering? Why was it so hard to find something nice to say on that evening on the shooting range? Why didn't I just say what I felt? Told him that he was a great person and that it was a nice thing letting me test his gun. He knew he would hit all the rounds dead center. What did I expect? That the Secret Service would send an agent to protect me who cannot hit the attacker? He was capable to pull the trigger, he told me. I pressured him so long until he told me about Rosslyn. He was so sure he killed that guy, that I could almost feel his pain physically. But he stayed, he didn't quit. He continued his job to protect people, even if they didn't want his protection.

_„I'm not allowed to kiss a protectee." „Who was trying to kiss you??" „You did!!" „No, I didn't!"_

I can't believe what I've done to him. I have played with him like a toy. The moment I realized how much I liked him, I tried to hide it. He told me he was not allowed to date me, that it was to dangerous if he was distracted from his watch. I didn't care. I didn't waste a thought about how he must have felt. I played with him, I flirted with him, I drove him towards the edge. And when he finally got there, I let him fall. He knew as well as I did, that my feelings on that evening in front of my house where real. I didn't care how much I hurt him when I met him in the office the next day. He tried to explain why he had to destroy the spell of the moment, tried to explain why he didn't kiss me. And all I did was to make fun of him and treat him like a worthless servant.

I liked the way he looked at me, the way he paid attention. He made me feel like a woman, like an attractive one. There was no leering in his eyes, no inner undressing. He just looked at me, at C.J. Craig, a person he was risking his life for. He didn't care about my job or my connection to the president, like most other men I meet. Why did I hide? Why was I so frightend by my own feelings? What has become of me? When did my job made me so hard I even dare to admit my own feelings?

I still see him that morning, kidding around with his young friend Anthony. I watched them fight and caught a brief glimpse of the real Simon Donovan. The one off duty. I still hear his light- hearted laughter, which stopped immediatly when he spotted me. And I still remember what I felt in that moment: jealousy. I didn't want him to have fun when I was in a bad mood. That's why I snapped at him, I guess. And he took it with his usual patience, showing no more than a deep breath. He has been with the army and the Secret Service his entire life, and he has learned to follow orders.

Maybe that's one thing we had in common. We have learned to hide ourselfs, to do whatever it takes to get our job done. Even if that involves to hide every inch of personal feeligs. I remember his eyes, a light blue surface of a deep, dark sea. And whatever will happen to me – I won't forget their look for the rest of my life. I will keep his memory, his exceptional presence and the warm feeling of safety I felt around him.

Rest in peace, Special Agent Sunshine.


End file.
